


dreams are for children

by arachnistar



Category: Doctor Who, Doctor Who (2005)
Genre: Alternate Universe, Alternate Universe - Modern Setting, F/M
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2013-07-08
Updated: 2013-07-08
Packaged: 2017-12-18 02:20:22
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 4,579
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/874557
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/arachnistar/pseuds/arachnistar
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>“There were two friends. Best friends ever since she saved him from a nasty beast. He couldn’t pay her back though, so he promised the stars. They were always running, away or to or just coz, looking at everything around them, until one day they stopped and looked at each other.”</p>
            </blockquote>





	dreams are for children

**Author's Note:**

> Inspired somewhat by the opening scene of 'Up' except my story takes a far different turn.

He’s a small kid with hair like a hedgehog, all gawky angles and split smiles. The other kids pick on him because he spends too much time drawing in his notebook, tinkering with objects (“it’ll sharpen pencils better than ever” he announces before the thing starts smoking), and staring at the sky. His teachers say he’s a smart boy, brilliant even, but if only he would apply himself. The other kids don’t like that. They call him stupid or weird or teacher’s pet even if he isn’t any of that, not really (well the weird part is probably right but the rest are wrong).

Randy is the worst of the lot. He steals lunches and pushes him into mud puddles. Not that he minds mud puddles much. They can be fun when you’re not shoved fact-first into them. Randy is one of those kids who uses his fists because they’re all he has. That and _friends_.  

He’s sprawled out under a tree, sketching a ship that could take him away from here, all the way to the stars, to Mars and Jupiter and beyond, maybe even in time because how brilliant would that be, to meet Shakespeare and walk through Athens at its height, when Randy finds him.

Randy takes one look at the notebook and scowls. “What’ve ya got there? Give it here.”

He ignores him, focuses on the curve of the console instead.  

“I said give it here!”

The notebook is snatched from his hands, to a gale of laughter from Randy’s squad.

A scowl darkens his face and he stands up. “Give that back!” It sounds small and insignificant, even to his own ears. Squeaky, like a mouse against a lion.  

Randy’s brow rises. One day he’ll have to stitch his own mouth shut and maybe then he can avoid trouble. “Little punk thinks he can order me ‘bout!”

“Show ‘im what you’ve got!”

Before he can do anything to prevent it, Randy’s fist connects with his face. Pain explodes; stars dance in his eyes. Next thing he knows, he’s down on the ground with Randy standing over him, triumphant and crowing like a cock.

“Hey!”

They all turn to this new voice, feminine and sweet but also hard as steel – well hard as a little girl can get her voice anyway. It’s the new girl. Rose Tyler. Rose Tyler with her plaited hair and pink hoodie.

Her fists thump into Randy, knocking the bully to the ground. She picks up the notebook and smiles down at him. He returns the smile and accepts the offered hand up and then his notebook.

Randy is getting back up. No time to chat now. There’s only one thing to do, the one thing he’s always done, but it feels different now. Weightier somehow, a turning point in the world, but he doesn’t think about it.

He just grabs her hand. “Run!”

They do.       

X-X-X

They hide in the candy store among long whips of liquorice and balls of sugar, both panting from the run over.  

“That was brilliant.” He bounces on his feet, all manic energy and excitement.

She shrugs and grins back. “He deserved it.”

He points around them. “What do you want? I’ll pay.”

Her eyes light up. She chooses a pack of gummy worms and chocolate bites. He selects a large lollypop and sugar sticks. When they reach the counter, he reaches into his pockets and pulls out a pencil, several paperclips, a yo-yo, a pebble so smooth it’ll surely skip across water, and a tangle of wires. He smiles sheepishly at her and she rolls her eyes.

“You owe me,” she says as she hands money over. 

X-X-X

He pulls a large book off a shelf. The front cover is embossed: _The Places I Will Go_. It’s his dreams and aspirations and hopes, everything to him.

“This is my adventure book.” He’s never shown this to anyone, but there’s something about Rose. Something special. She didn’t laugh at him. She’s open and kind, makes him laugh, has the best smiles in the world, listened intently when he rambled about this little town, indulged his numerous questions about her; he wants to share something important with her. She watches in interest as he flips the book open. “I’m going to go to all these places one day.”

There are photos inside, faded ones torn from magazines mostly. There are news clippings and the names of places written in his scrawl. The Serengeti. New York. Mount Everest. Tokyo. The Amazon. He blabbers on about everything, about dead pharaohs in their pyramids, about huskies tugging sleds across snow, about caverns of crystals tucked away in the world’s crevices. There are blank spots, so he can put his own pictures in. On the last page, there’s a chart of the stars, white pinpricks of light in a dark blue sky. He doesn’t say anything here, just stares at the stars with her.    

When he’s done showing her the book, he gives her a nervous smile and adds, “If you want, you can come too.”

She looks at him closely with liquid eyes and he shifts, suddenly unsure of himself. Then she grins, catching her tongue between her teeth. “Better with two, yeah?”

He returns the grin and nods.

X-X-X

Their parents don’t allow sleepovers, but he still sneaks over to her place and she to his. They live on opposite sides of the tracks – he in a large almost-a-mansion house, she in a small flat. Neither one cares though she is nervous the first time she takes him home. He loves it because it’s so undeniably her space. 

They sit on rooftops as he points at constellations and tells stories. Orion. Cassiopeia. Cygnus. The big bear and the little one. Sometimes he brings along his telescope, so they can be that much closer to the stars.

 When they can manage it, if their parents aren’t there or are fast asleep, they watch videos together, science fiction shows set in galaxies far away from theirs. One time, her mum catches them in her room and chases him off with a broom.

After that, Rose tells him, “We need a clubhouse.”  

He gets to work sketching out plans. She scavenges for wood, finds some old pieces along with some corrugated metal and rope. He nicks tools from his father’s toolbox. They hammer and saw and paint until they have a small place constructed in the tree branches. They christen it with juice boxes and then lie down on a worn, blue blanket.

There’s a flap in the roof, which he opens with a tug on a rope. Above them are the starry heavens. They continue their ritual and she often falls asleep to his soothing voice rambling on about stars and galaxies and far-off places.

The clubhouse is filled with their dreams. Drawings and magazine cut-outs and books pile up inside. Bits of machinery are scattered about. A stockpile of candy and other snacks is maintained. Water guns, in case of defense, stand at the ready. The centerpiece of everything is his book, their book now, waiting to be filled with their adventures. 

One day she carves two words into the wood. Bad Wolf.

“What’s that?” He asks, head tilted.

Wolf, _Canis lupus_ , central in various mythologies, monster in some, caretaker in others, one of Rose’s favorite animals.

Bad, he doesn’t get that part. A reference to the Big Bad Wolf gobbling up little girls and piggies, maybe? Except Rose isn’t the Big Bad Wolf in any tale unless she’s the Big Bad Wolf to bullies like Randy but that isn’t Bad, it’s Good, so maybe she should be Good Wolf.

“If I ever get superpowers, it’s going to be my superhero identity.”

He chuckles and points at the first word. “A superhero can’t have Bad in their name. It’s not right.”

“Then I’ll be a supervillain.”

She does her best attempt at evil laughter and they spend the rest of the afternoon trying to outdo each other in that department.

Before they leave, she points back at the graffiti and says, “You need a name. I need a sidekick.” He stares at her, mouth half-open in complaint. “Fine, partner. What’ll it be?”

He takes the knife from her and considers the situation. Several possibilities run through his head until the perfect one flashes by. He starts carving, making sure she can’t see until he’s done. When he steps aside, he grins and awaits her approval.

“The Doctor?” She raises an eyebrow.

“I’ll heal people, fix problems, that sorta stuff. The Doctor.”

“Big head,” but it’s an affectionate endearment accompanied by a friendly eye-roll.  

“The Doctor and Bad Wolf.” He tries it out, likes the way it sounds, the way it rolls off his tongue as if they really were the stuff of legend instead of two kids in a tree house. From her smile, he can tell she likes it too. They leave the clubhouse together, rushing off to dinner. 

Years later when they aren’t so little, he climbs up to the clubhouse alone and the wood breaks under him. He falls to the ground, whimpering, ankle twisted unnaturally, until she finds him. She murmurs assurances to his dramatic whining until the ambulance arrives to take him to the hospital.

The last thing he says before he goes is, “Get the book.”  

X-X-X

They grow.

He stretches out until he’s one of the taller kids though he’s still skinny as a rake. She teases him about it and then brushes his hair back. Meanwhile, she gains curves. Other boys notice her, wolf-whistle in the streets, sneak glances down her shirts. She dates one of them for a while, a bloke named Jimmy, a handsome musician who thinks school is a waste of time, until she catches him shagging another girl in a closet.

They sit on the sofa together after that, a tub of ice cream between them. She’s already demolished half of it when she drops her spoon and mutters, “’M so daft.”

“You’re not.” 

“Yeah I am.”

He reaches over and takes her hands. They fit together like always, as if they simply grew with each other. “No, you’re not. You’re brilliant. Bloody brilliant. Most brilliant person in the whole world. In the whole universe even. You are. An’ Jimmy’s an asshole.”

Rose smiles at him in-between her tears. She leans in to kiss him and he almost does because he really really wants to, only to pull away at the last moment. This isn’t right. A sigh escapes her and she looks down at the melting ice-cream.

“Not yet,” he promises and squeezes her hand.

X-X-X

Two months later, they go to the winter ball together. As friends is what they tell everyone else. As something else is what rests unspoken between them. He wears a pinstripe suit. She wears a gorgeous full-length, strapless dress. They dance, bodies shaking and swinging to the steady beats, until they get bored.

He leans close and whispers, “Run!”

She giggles, takes his hand, and follows him out the gym. They keep going until they reach a grassy hillside. And in the grass, their old blanket, worn and blue as ever. He’s been planning this for some time now and he’s nearly vibrating with frantic energy. Together, they lie back on the blanket. He tells her about the constellations like old times and hands over his jacket when she gets cold. They drift into a rare silence.

“There’s a new one.”  

“Oh?” He keeps track of all astronomical news and he can’t recall anything about new constellations, but he’ll listen to her.  

She nods, as solemn as a priest, and then grabs his hand. She traces out the stars, ten in all, and begins her story. “There were two friends. Best friends ever since she saved him from a nasty beast. He couldn’t pay her back though, so he promised the stars. They were always running, away or to or just coz, looking at everything around them, until one day they stopped and looked at each other.”

They’re no longer looking at the stars; he’s looking at her and she’s looking at him and they’re so close they can almost touch. Her warm breath brushes his face and he summons up words. “Did they ever reach them? The stars?”

Her brow crinkles in amusement. “They’re up there now, aren’t they?”

He leans in the last inch and presses his lips to hers.  

X-X-X

Some things stay the same, some things change.

They still get chips every week at their favorite chippy. He still makes faces as she drowns hers in vinegar and she still steals his every chance she gets. They still watch the stars and hold hands everywhere they run.

They discover new places to snog. Beneath trees and behind buildings and in closets. Shagging too, they do that quite a bit and it’s wonderful.  

After, when they’re sweaty and sated, limbs tangled, he whispers in her ear. “After we graduate, we can go anywhere.”

She smiles, a sleepy, content one. It’s one of his favorites, but then all her smiles are his favorites. “’S nice.”

“We can go to Rome. We can eat real Italian gelato and walk along the Via Appia. We can see the Pantheon and the Coliseum and all the other things people go to Rome for. Just the two of us. Then we can go to Egypt to see the great pyramids and then the Great Wall of China and the Terracotta Army and the Amazon rainforest and whatever else we want to see. We can see everything. Together. What do you think?”

His only answer is a light snore and he realizes she’s dozed off. He laughs, kisses her nose, and falls asleep himself.

Everything is bright.    

X-X-X

“You’re leaving.” Her voice is flat, dull. It’s one of the few times she’s closed up on him and he wishes more than anything that he could draw her out.  

“Not forever.” He promises, tilting her chin so she can see the sincerity in his eyes. “You can come with me.”

She wants to; it’s clear as day in her eyes. But she only ends up biting her lip and looking away. “I can’t. Mum hasn’t been well. She needs me.”

He nods. He knows that, has known since she found her mum collapsed on the floor and called him from the hospital in tears. He’d come then, stayed with her the entire night, holding her hand and stroking her hair until the doctors announced Jackie was recovering.    

“Can’t you stay?”

A part of him wishes he could, but he knows it’s impossible. He needs to see somewhere else, escape his parents, seize the chance for a job in London while it’s still there. “I can’t.”

She walks away. He leaves the next day, away from the small town they call home to the big city. It feels like a metamorphosis, a shedding of the past and all that he had for a future he wants.

It feels empty without her. 

X-X-X

First thing he does is start his new job as a journalist. The position involves fetching coffee half the time and making copies for the other half. A small portion of his time is devoted to writing his own articles. Steadily that time grows as he proves himself capable. 

Most of his time not at work is spent wandering the city. He gets lost on the Tube, taking one train when he should’ve taken another and ending up on the opposite end of the city. He visits famous places, Buckingham Palace, the London Eye, the Tower, and tells tourists about the landmarks. He visits the areas tourists avoid, lonely streets and small markets and crowded pubs, and chats with strangers to learn everything. He eats noodles and pizza and Chinese. He avoids chips like the plague. 

When he returns to his flat, he comes to a barren room. Only the essentials have been unpacked – toothbrush, bedding, shaving kit, clothes. Everything else stays packed away in boxes. He wonders what he’s waiting for and then runs away from the thought.  

A year later, when he’s been promoted and his life has settled into something remarkably like routine, he unpacks the rest. He finds an old book in the bottom of a box he vaguely remembers throwing stuff in. It reads _The Places I Will Go_ , with the I crossed out and replaced with a We. He sits on the floor, flipping through the pages, drinking in faded pictures and spidery writing and blank spaces for dreams. At the end, there’s a star chart with ten stars connected by lines and a picture of the two of them in a photo booth. They’re laughing, arms around one another. He stares at it for a long time, running his thumb along her cheekbone.

In the end, he catches the first train back. The city fades into suburbs, into lonely fields and cobblestone homes, into the familiar surroundings of his childhood. He hops off and stands at the station for a while. He has no idea what to say. All he brought with him was the book, his wallet, and a set of keys. One of them opens her flat.

He still doesn’t know what to say.

He ends up wandering through the town. The owner of the candy store gives him a friendly wave, which he returns. He passes by the spot where, once, on a late evening, they snogged in the rain. He caught a cold after that and she teased him for ages. He walks by the chippy they ate at, the mile of cracked asphalt where she fell off her first bike, the abandoned parking lot where they launched bottle rockets. Everything is saturated in the memories of his youth and yet everything is new. The chippy has replaced its sign with something shiny and new, the street is covered over with a darker material, and the abandoned lot is a baseball field now.  

Eventually he comes to their tree. The remnants of their old clubhouse are still up there; no one bothered to tear it down even after all these years. He laughs and then quiets when no one laughs with him.

He clambers up the tree and makes it to the branch right below the clubhouse. He shifts, the branch creaks. He stops moving and simply peers inside. There’s the hole he made when the wood broke under him last time, splintery and dangerous. The metal roof is rusty orange and the wood moldy in places. Soggy papers lie in piles amongst leaf litter. A squirrel peeks out at him, chatters, annoyed by his presence. He gives it a toothy grin and it scurries away.

His eyes are drawn to two words, just two words. Bad Wolf. And right next to that – the Doctor. Where did those two kids go? Two kids with the whole of the world at their fingertips, stars in their head, hands never far from the other. The Doctor and Bad Wolf.

And now it’s been a year since he last saw her, spoke to her. He’s going to fix it. He’s going to fix it and take her away to somewhere exotic or else, if she doesn’t want to leave, he’ll stay. Whatever it takes, he’ll fix it.

He almost expects her to appear and ask him what he’s doing up there and doesn’t he remember how he broke his ankle last time. She’d ask with a tongue-touched smile, love on her face. Then she’d wonder what it’s like, whether there are any reminders of their past up there, and he’d tell her about Bad Wolf and soggy drawings and faded paint and dreams that can still come true until she came up to see for herself.

She doesn’t show and eventually he climbs down.

X-X-X

He finds her in the cemetery. He’s walking by, hands shoved in pockets, and he just happens to catch sight of blonde hair blowing in the wind. He pauses and squints through the gate. It’s her. No doubt about it.

He runs through, only slowing when he’s a few meters away. She doesn’t turn. His eyes drop to the gravestones.

Pete Tyler is a familiar name on the stone. She came here often to talk to the father she never really knew when things were bad and when things were good. Sometimes he came with her, to hold her hand. Once they brought their book and told him about their future. It feels like a lifetime ago.   

Jacqueline Andrea Suzette Tyler is a new engraving.

He reaches for her hand; she takes it as if he hasn’t been gone for months.

“I’m sorry.”

It’s inadequate, but it breaks the reverent silence. She twists into his embrace and buries a teary face in his chest. They stand for what seems like a long time, his arms around her, her body shaking with sobs.

He stares at the date. Six months ago. Her mum died six months ago and she’s been alone since then. He feels rotten for not being there for her, knows that he had no way of knowing and that it’s not his fault she was alone.

It doesn’t make him feel any better.

He presses a kiss to her hair and continues to hold her as the sun goes down. 

“You didn’t tell me. I would’ve come back.” He says later when they’re back at her flat. Every surface is taken up by something – take-out containers, papers, clothes. She’s never let it get this messy before, but it looks like she’s given up on life.

She breezes past him on her way to the bathroom. “I didn’t know your number.”

He stands amongst the rummage of her life, still holding the book. His hands caress the beaten leather cover, tracing the words over and over. _The Places We Will Go_. If only they could be at one of those places instead of here. Here, he doesn’t know what to do. She makes his decision for him when she pokes her head out.

“Aren’t you coming?” 

X-X-X

That night, despite their prior intimacy in her shower, she shuts the bedroom door in his face. He stands there for a while, thinking that she’ll invite him in like she did the shower. She doesn’t and eventually he drags himself to the sofa where he clears a space to sleep.  

The next night, after a whole day of being ignored except for a few words and a quick shag, this time against a wall, urgent and needy, he takes their book and knocks on her door. There’s no invitation, but he can’t go on like this. He pushes it open and steps into her room. She’s huddled under her blanket, still body turned away.  

“Rose.”

“What do you want?” Her voice is hoarse. His heart breaks all over again.

“To help.”

“You can’t.”

He walks over and perches on the edge of her bed. “I can fix anything. I’m the Doctor, remember?”

A laugh – strangled and hurt, like broken glass – bubbles forth from her. “You can’t fix everything, _Doctor_.”

“I can try.”

When she doesn’t reply, he opens the book. His fingers run over the pictures, but he’s looking at her, not them. “I was in London. It’s a beautiful city. I saw all those things from our book – Buckingham Palace, the Tower, the British Museum with the Rosetta Stone. I rode on double-decker buses and cabs and the Tube. All brilliant. But I was lonely… I missed you.”

“Not enough.”

He flinches. “I’m sorry, Rose. I’m so sorry. I should’ve been here for you, but I wasn’t –”

“Just go.”

“I didn’t fill anything in. In the book. It’s still blank as ever.” He sets it down on her nightstand. “I never want to leave you again, Rose.”  

“Please, just go.”

He stands up and goes to the door even if everything in him screams to stay. But he has to take things slow if he wants them to get better. At her door, he lingers to admit, “I love you.” She makes no sign that she heard and he leaves.

The next evening, at the end of her shift, he meets her there. They pick up Chinese and then begin the walk home. It’s silent, but not in the comfortable way they once had. This is the silence where familiarity goes to die, the silence that cleaves people in two.  

“They’re still up there.” He nods up at the sky.

“What?”

He takes her hand and traces the constellation. “Those two best friends. They found the stars.”

She stares at the sky for several long minutes. He shuffles his feet and stares at her. Eventually her eyes fall to his. “Are you sure they didn’t lose them?”

“Only thing I’m more sure of is our names.”

He can’t tell if she believes him or not, but she holds his hand for the rest of the walk home and he counts it a small victory.

X-X-X

Month pass.

He works at the bookstore and the chippy for some time. He writes articles for the local newspaper. He fixes appliances and roofs for people. He puts all the money he doesn’t use into an account and waits for a better day. 

He keeps track of their new firsts as well. The first time she really kisses him. The first time they go out for chips together. The first time they watch a movie and she falls asleep on his shoulder. The first time she lets him stay in bed. The first time they go out to watch the stars. The first time it feels like love and happiness again.

They go on picnics often. Different places all over town though  their favorite is a grassy hill. They still use their old blanket even as it gets holes and becomes threadbare.  

One day he packs plane tickets in their picnic basket. She spots one and her entire face pales. “You’re leaving me?”

He shakes his head, hair flopping around. “No!” He stops the head-shaking to peer at her and repeats the word. “No. Never again. There are two. See.”

She looks again and pulls them out. “New York City.”     

“Great place. Well, that I’ve heard, can’t really say until I’ve actually gone, can I? But they have the Statue of Liberty and an amazing planetarium and street food. We can try American chips – fries, they call them, fries, isn’t that daft? And there’s Times Square and Central Park and a bunch of other places. Of course there are less touristy places that are still interesting, more interesting maybe. And it’s a good place to start a trip through America. You get a brilliant introduction to the country with New York and then rent a car to drive through the rest. Big country, America, lots to see and do. We can do it all together. If you want.” She still hasn’t said anything and he’s getting jittery, his gesticulations increasing as her silence continues. “Or we can stay here. Here is -”

Her lips smash into his, cutting off the rest of his babble. They kiss for a while, languorous and sensuous with lots of tongue, and then he draws back.   

“That a yes?”

 She rolls her eyes. “Course that’s a yes.”

The two of them together, traveling the world, just as it should be. 


End file.
